Embrace Ch. 05

"That's dreadful." Amelia says weakly. "But what does it..."

"The first sigil on your little truth bomb is her personal cypher. You won't see that in the records because it's been entirely expunged. The second sigil is interesting, because four of her captive herd wore that mark. It's a mark of absolute protection, meaning final death to anyone foolish enough to kill the mortal. You might still see reference to it at times if you comb carefully through the record, but it's usually only attached to influential mortals of the royal family these days, not mere vessels. The third sigil is of course the cypher of the unfortunate Gregor von Habsburg. Your brother in blood."

"Now." Leopoldine reaches down to touch Amelia's upturned face. "Don't take me for a fool, childe. Who really wants to blow the lid off all this? Because it certainly isn't in the Lady Eleanor's interests, or your sire's."

"I'm telling the truth." Amelia says quietly. "I swear it was the lictor. Don't you see? Her priority is always the good of the clan, not her own interests, she must have her reasons."

Leopoldine shrugs. "Rosemary became a victim of her own hubris. A pair of those long suffering blood slaves attempted to embrace each other with her stolen vitae. It went badly wrong and your grandsire was diablerised. The lictor shed no tears but the prince was beside himself. Anyone who carried the slightest whiff of blame... well. Rumor has it they met a less gentle fate than beheading."

"I know nothing of rumours." Amelia says. "Wolf-Dietrich, I mean my sire, he never speaks to me about anything of consequence unless he's threatening me or beating me for breaking some rule he never told me about, but Lady Eleanor has always been fair to me. She wouldn't have given me this information for sport, she wouldn't have asked me about it if it wasn't important."

"Strange times we live in. The lictor knows as well as I do what those marks are, so who knows why she's sent you on this fool's errand. Wicked Gregor fed only from debauched children, and Rosemary fed his disgusting habit. As soon as these diabolical antics came to the prince's attention, Paracida decreed that they desist or be banished from Vienna. Of course, Rosemary discreetly ignored the edict. When she met her end her assets were dissolved, and Gregor was forced to look beyond the clan to avoid censure.

"The toreador filled Rosemary's niche before the week was out but they didn't have her control over Gregor, they didn't dare Fred him ghouls, the whole thing was scandalous. It's obscene the number of innocent... But of course, you must be painfully intimate with that unpleasantness already." The tone of sympathy in Leopoldine's voice is worrying. It seems genuine.

Amelia kisses Leopoldine's hand as it is offered, and rises up off her knees at last.

"Please forgive me, madame, I don't think I followed what you said."

Leopoldine smiles and winks at her.

"Of course you don't. Sweet childe."

"No, really, madame," Amelia says in confusion, "have I missed something?"

"I mean all that business with Arpad?" Leopoldine frowns in confusion herself, "And your degenerate husband? Well surely..."

Leopoldine covers her mouth and her eyes widen in an almost comedic expression of horror.

Amelia stands in horrified silence. Franz has no desire for women. He has no desire for men either. Only vampires. And children. Bile rises in the back of Amelia's throat.

"You're saying that Franz..." Amelia chokes back a sob. Of course. On that morning at the matchmaker's, Franz had seemed besotted with her. Mother had bound Amelia up into the most unflattering gown, made such a fuss of letting her hair hang down her back in curls, in ribbons, and hadn't allowed her a scrap of rouge or artifice. What a contrast to their wedding day when Papa lifted the veil from her face and put her hand in Franz's at the altar, the disgust on her husband's face. The horror. "Oh Leopoldine!"

"Saints preserve us. You really didn't know."

"What does it matter now?" Amelia is shaking. And they all knew. Mama, Papa, his parents, they all knew. And Wolf-Dietrich. Not only did he know, but he gloats all the damn time about how stupid Amelia is. And now Franz has a son who must be what? A year? Two years old by now? "I have to go," she sobs, "Urgently! Please let me go, Leopoldine, I won't tell a soul."

"Not so fast, childe. I'm giving you one last chance to come clean to me. Where the devil did you get that note? Or... perhaps we need to have a less amicable conversation in private?" She adds menacingly.

This is beyond comprehension. Leopoldine must be one of them. Why else would the woman be so invested in who else knows about Rosemary? Amelia calculates the odds. If she's right, there is a chance she can use this whole nightmare to her advantage after all. Amelia sinks back to her knees and offers Leopoldine her throat as she meets her judgement. There's no doubt that if Leopoldine suspects a lie, the next few hours will be excruciating, and that Sylvie's fate will be equally brutal.

"No one gave me that note, it's a copy of a tattoo. What do I care about any of it now that I see the truth?" Amelia says. "Franz is a monster. He may have been Rosemary's vessel once, a victim, as all those poor children were, but I feel nothing but contempt for him now. It was sloppy of all of you to leave your twisted creature to prey on the innocent. Wicked and foolish of you all to leave your mark on him."

"Really?" Leopoldine sneers. "Of course. Gregor was such an ass." Like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, Leopoldine's smile returns. "You've done the right thing telling me, childe." She tousels Amelia's hair affectionately. "Don't feel bad about it. In fact you always brighten my day, and I can never refuse to indulge you."

As Leopoldine offers her hand once more, Amelia kisses it as she must.

On Amelia's return home, she insists that Sylvie draw a bath at once. Amelia scrubs every inch of her skin, but somehow she still feels Franz's spit congealed there, still feels Leopoldine's fingers caressing her cheek. Sylvie is baffled by Amelia's insistence that she wash her mistress from head to toe again, but as always does her duty carefully and thoroughly. The ghoul is pleasantly overwhelmed by the affection the vampire lavishes upon her afterwards.

Amelia is counting on Leopoldine's paranoia, and is not disappointed. By the end of the week, Leopoldine acts. Franz's young wife becomes a widow in mourning, regent to her infant son who is now the Baron of Shönborn-Buchheim. God willing, he will never know of his father's perfidy.

*

"I'm so very proud of you. You're all I could have hoped for."

"Whatever has happened, Felix?" Amelia answers groggily. "It's the middle of the day."

"Just you wait, my precious little strumpet. Come with me."

Amelia feels herself separate along the edges. Different parts of her want to split off in a hundred directions like confetti, but somehow Felix holds her together and they drift up towards the clouds.

The sun is a pale dream of itself, a silver coin hanging behind the cumulus clouds.

They sink back down through a roof top and into a dingy little room where a wide eyed Leopoldine has literally been nailed to the floor.

Long rivets of wrought iron run through the flesh and bone of her limbs. Her feet have been bound extra securely, with a rivet through each arch and ankle; each toe caught with its own little noose of wire, so it might reach as far as it can towards its destruction. Her mouth is wide open, but packed so full of wadding her futile cries of terror are reduced to nothing more than muffled moaning. Things are about to take a turn for the worse.

Poor Leopoldine is watching the line of wan daylight creeping across the boards as the sun moves ahead, and inch by inch it approaches her immobilised feet.

Eleanor is lying on a little cot in the same room, deep in her death sleep. The prisoner's now continuous pleas for mercy are falling on deaf ears.

Leopoldine closes her eyes tight as the sunlight reaches her at last. Then sliver by sliver, the creeping shaft of sunlight claims first her toes, then her feet, then her ankles, and then by some miracle, nothing more than that. Felix and Amelia bear witness just long enough for Leopoldine's fear frenzy to subside back into pathetic weeping.

It could have been a fever dream, except that Gaston takes the minutes from now on, even when Leopoldine finally does return. The once light hearted kindred's respect for Lady Eleanor has graduated to full blown terror and avoidance.

Eleanor never mentions any of it to Amelia. As her little tapestry steadily takes shape, she doesn't seem to mind Amelia peering at it at all.